BLISTERING

You've just hung curtains up; you promised me
their wrinkles would fall out, it'd be alright

despite their shadowed, glaring squints.  Curtains
to keep me shielded, free me to walk

whichever way I see fit; naked, wet
straight out of a bath and to the bedroom

where the curtains are permanently drawn
like the bruises on my arms, like magic

marker.  We hide in this dark like a foot
in a shoe; we're two toes pressed against one

another.  Curtains protect outsiders
from witnessing this friction, blistering

to cushion damage done to nerve endings.
They look lovely.  We'll see if tomorrow

pops and unfolds these furrows, opens eyes
that are still shut close, forcibly, too tightly.